


Don't Ask Me To Explain

by Riachinko



Category: Beauty and the Beast (2017)
Genre: Angst, Blow Jobs, Intergluteal Sex, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Tussle and Fuck
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-03
Updated: 2017-11-03
Packaged: 2019-01-28 18:39:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,617
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12612920
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Riachinko/pseuds/Riachinko
Summary: LeFou agrees to go home with Stanley, but despite Stanley's good intentions, LeFou has all kind of barriers up since the death of Gaston.





	Don't Ask Me To Explain

**Author's Note:**

> Hi I wanted to write something where LeFou is the Gaston to Stanley's LeFou and make them fight >:)

The townsfolk of Villeneuve never quite knew what to make of the day the curse was lifted.

For the most part, things remain generally the same: the same men tend the same fields, the same women do the same laundry. LeFou sees the same people on the same street corners day after day, and attends the same church with them every Sunday morning. Without Gaston around, though, nobody seems to know how to engage LeFou the way they once had. He doesn’t mind it; thinks maybe it’ll be easier for him to leave it all behind someday. And running errands is much more efficient when there’s nobody to tie you down with small talk.

And so, it’s a quiet Thursday morning at the town centre market.

It’s appreciated, however, when Tom approaches from behind. “Nice morning, LeFou!” he says, tentatively placing a hand on LeFou’s shoulder as he sidles up to him at the egg stand. “We’ve all been missing you at the tavern lately - I mean…we understand, of course.”

“Mm,” LeFou hums softly, gathering his eggs before looking Tom in the eye. “Just been waiting for a bit of normalcy to return, I guess.”

The man's his senior, but never treated him with any disrespect because of it. Truth be told, LeFou's missed seeing him too.

“You'll have some normalcy in your life if you come out drinking with us tonight,” Tom laughs.

It’s a well-intentioned statement, and true enough, and so LeFou nods in reply.

“Alright.”

  
  
  


The usual crew is at their usual table playing cards when LeFou arrives. His entrance doesn't go unnoticed, and it's a warm feeling to be greeted by so many men and women - some of them even cheer. LeFou removes his hat; brushes a hand through his loose hair to shake it free of the rain.

Tom waves him over with an eager hand and a plump-cheeked grin, and LeFou follows over to him, shirking his wet jacket from his shoulders as he walks. The back of the tavern is cozy and inviting, and LeFou is instantly glad he made the trek in the storm.

“I've had a beer sitting here for you all night!” Tom cheers. “About time you showed up!”

LeFou isn't surprised by how seamlessly he falls back into his old routine; entertaining the crowd with comedic anecdotes, beating the boys at poker and arm wrestling with Dick when he disputes the loss.

Jacques starts up a sing-along on his accordion; Clothilde comes around to replenish the boys’ drinks whenever Dick waves her over.

Without Gaston around, the single women in town seem bored - LeFou becomes the target for some of them, using what they had known about Gaston in an attempt to build up a superficial rapport. LeFou's general lack of interest turns most of them away, but somehow endears others, and he finds himself able to charm free drinks out of them in exchange for very little physical attention.

The singing and dancing, LeFou doesn't partake in.

Tom and Dick have since left him to socialise with other friends, but Stanley remains as many of the other townsfolk have said their goodnights and petered out. He draws his chair up to LeFou’s right side, turning it around and sitting down in it backwards; leans in close.

“Looks like it's safe to say you made a triumphant return,” he chuckles, raising his glass, and LeFou does the same.

“It's certainly different without--” LeFou stops short of finishing, his expression pained. He drinks. “It’s still difficult to talk about it.”

He drinks more and Stanley says nothing, just watching him in silence. It isn’t a secret to LeFou that Stanley had admired Gaston greatly - there was an unspoken hero worship in him, and LeFou had often suspected Stanley of being a bit jealous.

He was always staring.

“At least it was a busy night, kept my mind off of things,” LeFou sighs. “Will you be staying ‘til close?”

It takes him a brief moment to get a reply, Stanley shaking his head quickly and blinking as though to clear his mind. He smiles - LeFou likes that wide, toothy smile of his - and nods.

“If you'd like me to. I'll stay until you choose to leave.”

“It won't be much longer for me,” LeFou yawns.

He idly circles the rim of his mug with his finger, and it's hypnotic - for him and for Stanley.

Stanley gets lost in the delicate way the pad of LeFou's middle finger traces it; perfectly balanced on the edge despite his inebriation. His tongue darts out to wet his lips and LeFou catches him; swallows deeply with embarrassment and LeFou catches him again, raising his eyebrows questioningly. The corner of his lips twitching up into a coy grin.

LeFou's hand drops from the rim and curls around the base of his mug; his thumb rubs lazily up and down, chasing the droplets of condensation as they drip down and pool onto the table.

“I've often thought you were quite a good friend to stay with us until the final hour,” LeFou says. “You haven't got anyone to wait for you back at home?”

Stanley can feel the heat in his cheeks, under his skin. He hasn’t drunk a lot so he knows it isn’t the blush of alcohol in him; knows it isn't just heat from the nearby fire.

“I haven't.”

LeFou smiles, then; teasingly sucks the condensation from his thumb while looking Stanley straight in the eye. “If you buy us a final round I'll let you do more than watch.”

Desired: that's what LeFou feels when Stanley practically trips over his chair in an effort to get out from behind the table and make it to the bartop to order more beer. It's a good feeling. As Gaston's righthand man, LeFou often felt needed - necessary, even - but desired was a feeling that he’d chased after; had deemed unobtainable.

When Stanley returns to the table with a mug in each hand, he's brought Tom and Dick with him.

“We're heading home to the wives,” Dick slurs. “Glad to see you out and about again.”

He wobbles in place, fidgets about with his jacket and struggles to get his arms in the sleeves as Tom grabs his hat from the coat rack and comes to offer Dick a shoulder for support.

“We'll be seeing you tomorrow night then as well?” Tom smiles, cheerfully drunk; cheeks rosy and eyes glassy.

“Yes,” LeFou nods, raising from his seat to see the men off to the staircase. “I suppose that's likely.”

Stanley tips his cap at the two. “Get home safely.”

With LeFou's reason for coming gone, along with most of the other villagers, the tavern feels a lot more intimate.

“We ought to think about heading out too,” LeFou says. He grabs for his jacket and hat, throws them down on the empty chair beside him as he sits to finish his drink. “That rain sounds tremendous.”

Worst come to worst he can rent one of the tavern’s rooms.

But then Stanley is sitting down with him - closer than before. “Stay the night with me?” he says, stroking the back of LeFou's hand with his little finger. “That is to say, the weather is bad, and I live so much closer to here than you.”

LeFou doesn't want to, not really. He’d love to be at home in his own bed, with Gaston’s grizzly pelts to keep him warm and no obligations to get him up in the morning. But he's drunk and still rather out of sorts and Stanley’s right about the weather. And he can't deny that the attention he’s receiving is getting to his head; the way Stanley is touching him is sending a bit of a shock down to his groin…

“If I agree to go, what will happen?”

“That's up to you, _mon ami_ ,” he smirks, removing his hand from LeFou's and taking a deep sip from his mug.

LeFou nods, raising the bottom of his glass high to finish the last drop of ale.

“Lead the way.”

  
  
  


True to his word, Stanley does live close by; LeFou had never bothered to take notice of Stanley outside of his presence at the tavern and his presence at Gaston's side when needed. He knows that his family owns a clothing boutique for women; that he’s the only son and that his father fought and died in the same war that LeFou and Gaston survived. He knows that Stanley’s naive.

As they walk, the young man is polite and eager to please, guiding LeFou down the street with a firm hand at the small of LeFou's back and an umbrella overhead.

“This street isn't well-lit,” he says, “please watch your step.”

But LeFou is a veteran of walking home at night, blind drunk; he's at no risk of tripping - even despite the wet cobblestone - except for when Stanley puts himself in the way under the guise of being gentlemanly and protective. It's almost cute, he thinks, how flustered the man gets when LeFou looks him up and down and accepts his leadership home.

But he isn't in this for cute. He's in this for brawn; that hint of well-defined muscle that LeFou's seen on hot, sunny days, the biceps he's felt now and again by accident. He's in this for someone manly and just as new to this whole thing as Gaston might have been if LeFou had ever been lucky enough to have had the pleasure.

When they reach the entrance of the boutique and Stanley moves to find his house key, LeFou’s assuredness falters. He lives his private life by a mantra of Be Discreet and bringing a man home late at night to the family household is anything but.

“Do you live with your mother and sisters?”

“The back of the home is mine. My family lives upstairs.”

It isn't ideal, and it proves Stanley's age, but the moment the door is unlocked, Stanley has his head bowed and his lips at the back of LeFou's neck, and LeFou is willing to hold his tongue on the matter as he's ushered inside.

The back of the home is tiny but secluded - Stanley has his own bedroom and studio with a small kitchen area with a fireplace. It's the fireplace that lights the floorboards and the walls with long-stretched shadows and splashes of yellow, as there's only the faintest sliver of moonlight shining in through the bedroom window.

No matter - LeFou's eyes are closed with pleasure as Stanley sucks and nips at his neck, the shell of his ear. He strips LeFou of his jacket and LeFou can hear the thud of wet fabric hitting the floor unceremoniously.

“I've admired you for a long time,” Stanley says, “ _mon chouchou_.”

 _Good_ \- LeFou thinks - _it shouldn’t be any trouble to get what I want_. He doesn't give a damn about the terms of endearment; just wants to be on his back on Stanley's bed, getting fucked and forgetting about the harsh realities of life. “Less talk,” he mumbles around a gasp.

He lets Stanley guide him through the darkness - somewhere along the way they move chest-to-chest and LeFou is kissing Stanley's chin - and then they're on the bed. Stanley kisses with confidence, and LeFou is thankful for it; lets Stanley tilt his head back and crash their lips together with open, wanting mouths.

He can tell that Stanley has removed his own jacket and waistcoat somewhere along the way - he’s warm and dry and he smells faintly of olive oil soap. His lithe fingers move to the buttons of LeFou’s waistcoat.

“ _Mm_ \--”

“Let me light a candle,” Stanley breaks their streak of kisses to whisper. “I want to see you.”

Then suddenly LeFou can hear a match being struck and the scraping metal of a candlestick across a drawer top, and when LeFou opens his eyes, he sees Stanley aglow in orange.

At first, he doesn't think they're alone; topples back on the bed in a hurry to get to his feet and run off. But as his eyes adjust to the dim lighting, LeFou can see that they aren't other people, but mannequin heads, dress forms. There's an entire collection of powdered wigs and elaborate hairpieces; a hooped skirt supporting a lavish pink skirt; several gowns on hangers and stuffed human forms.

“What is all this?” LeFou asks, suddenly deadly serious. “Stock from the boutique?”

“I, ah,” Stanley mumbles. “They're mine.”

LeFou's brow furrows as he struggles to process what he's been told, squinting to see and make sense of it. “Yours.”

“Maybe you’d call me a collector. I like to wear them...when I’m alone.” He says, point of factly. There’s a soft blush that crawls across his cheeks, but he doesn’t seem ashamed by what he’s said.

When LeFou’s expression of awe and disgust doesn’t falter, Stanley leans forward; reaches out to him on the bed and grabs his hands into his own. “You don't understand, and that's alright…Would you like me to show you?”

There’s a moment of silence between them, wherein LeFou tenses up; tries to pull away, and Stanley holds him tighter, rubbing his thumbs over LeFou’s wrists in circles, refusing to let go. LeFou’s eyes reflect the candlelight, wide and accusatory.

“No..! Don't show me…and don't show anyone else,” he spits. He can feel the venom in his veins, enraged by the ease with which Stanley can explain himself; the trust in his words and in LeFou.

“You really _are_ naive - I mean, flirting in public? Dancing with me at the ball? Do you have any idea what people will do to you if they find out you’re wearing women’s clothing and making advances towards men? You’ll become a target.”

“That isn't so, nobody made a fuss at all about us at the ball.”

“Everybody just thought you were an idiot who didn't know how to properly trade partners in a dance.”

Stanley flinches and even in the dim light he looks clearly hurt, with eyes cast downwards and tight lips. His breathing remains even throughout the exchange; he never stops massaging his thumbs into LeFou’s skin. He’s a good man, and patient, and LeFou is suddenly panged with guilt. He sucks his bottom lip; tries to think of a recovery.

“I really don’t-- ah…I don’t want anything to do with women when it comes to...intimate matters. This is a bit of a shock.” It’s a worthless apology, but LeFou is too drunk and tired to care. Could an apology even be taken seriously at this point?

He takes it as a good sign when Stanley looks into his eyes and smiles, big white teeth flashing past pink, plump lips. Stanley lets LeFou grab at the waistband of his pants; untuck his chemise and bury his cold hands underneath it against warm, taut flesh.

“You don’t need lace and jewelry to be attractive. Leave that to your sisters,” LeFou coos into the crux of Stanley’s neck. “You're so beautiful in other ways.”

He can hear the hitch in Stanley’s breath. He can feel when Stanley tenses up under his touch, but he allows LeFou to feel him - run chapped fingertips against his abs - just a little bit longer before finally pulling away.

“It’s who I am, LeFou,” he whispers. “Does it grate on your nerves that much?”

“Yes! I am _trying_ to keep you out of the mad house,” LeFou growls - as loudly as he feels he can without being overheard through the walls. His attitude is soured definitively when Stanley moves to stand, leaving him abandoned on the bedspread.

“Can I give you a little advice about the villagers? They’re never going to trust the kind of change you’re trying to bring. This is our _world_ , Stanley,” he hisses, getting to his feet. “For people of our persuasion it doesn’t get any better.”

LeFou learns something about himself when faced with Stanley’s cool, compassionate eyes and set jaw: he doesn’t much like being wrong. This is the world he’s dealt with since Stanley could barely walk - what does he know about it? He grows more furious still as he collects his jacket from the floor and Stanley leans against the doorway to open the door for him.

“The only thing holding you back from happiness is your own bad attitude,” Stanley says evenly. “I admire you, isn't that enough?”

“This was a mistake,” LeFou says flatly, dressing in his jacket, waving his hat dry.

For as dark as Stanley’s home is, the outside world is a whole lot darker.

It’s still pouring rain outside: droplets of water pelt loudly against the door and make a bad situation that much more worse. It can’t be helped, however, and LeFou makes to leave; has barely passed Stanley in the doorway when the younger man clicks his tongue, says,

“Gaston is gone. Perhaps you should take what you can get.”

It’s either the alcohol in his blood, or the frustration over their unorthodox romantic preferences, or the anger over Gaston’s abandonment in more ways than one - most likely a disastrous combination of all three - but LeFou’s blood boils the second Stanley’s words filter through his ears. He turns on his heel to confront the man with a forearm to Stanley’s throat, pinning him to the wall and sending a framed painting crashing to the floor.

“Take that back,” LeFou growls, eyes glimmering a dangerous golden brown in the candlelight.

Stanley grunts and chokes; pushes back against LeFou with all his might to send the shorter man stumbling backwards. His footing falters but he doesn’t fall, chest heaving and hands flexing in and out of fists.

They lock eyes.

He gets close enough to push LeFou back again. “Change can happen, you’re just too blind with foolish love to see it!”

It’s been years since LeFou has hit somebody - maybe not since the war twelve years ago - but it comes naturally and with ease when he socks Stanley in the eye: a connection that sends Stanley reeling and falling to his ass on the floor. LeFou stands over him; admires a job well done. He’s panting, and Stanley’s panting, and they stay staring angrily at each other for what feels like an eternity.

“You're quick to anger, just like Gaston,” Stanley says then, wheezing, holding his eye. “In that respect you and him were perfectly matched.”

LeFou scoffs, standing above Stanley, the low light casting menacing shadows across his face. The storm in LeFou has passed, and he’s tired of getting riled up over words; he’s spent the best part of his life trying to be like Gaston. If he had succeeded in that, he could only take it as a compliment.

“And you're as beautiful as your sisters, but just as much an imbecile.”

Stanley looks pathetic, bruised and sprawled out on the floor; his hair damp from sweat and rain and curling against his forehead, his lips full, his cheeks flushed. The flourish of purplish-red around Stanley’s left eye makes LeFou sick; makes his gut twist with remorse.

But when Stanley whimpers as LeFou steps closer, there’s a new fire lit inside of him. It’s different from from the white hot anger he’s just experienced - more akin to raw, desperate lust. It’s the kind of thing LeFou’s felt so many times before, going home drunk and horny and needing to be fucked. Painfully drawing out the process of taking himself in hand; imagining Gaston overtop of him, holding him down--

Stanley’s had every opportunity to get up by now. He certainly could have stood and punched LeFou back. They could have fought more, working out their aggressions the way most men in the village do.

Instead, Stanley ducks his head and snorts, “You probably needed that.” He laughs softly, spreading his legs wider - if by just a mere fraction - for LeFou to step between. “The weather’s still bad if you'd like to stay.”  

LeFou looks down at him through heavy-lidded eyes: he really is gorgeous.

“That’s awfully understanding of you.”

He sucks on his teeth, puckering his lips in thought; presses the tip of his boot to the firm outline of Stanley’s cock in his trousers. Stanley hisses beneath him but doesn’t complain, biting his lower lip and daring to peer up at the older man with his good eye.

“I don’t suppose getting jostled about is something that gets your heart racing like women's clothing,” he purrs, thumb running down, caressing the stubble-dusted curve of Stanley’s jaw. “Come here.”

And then Stanley is edging up close, in front of LeFou on his knees. His hands fly up to LeFou's belt, shaking as they pull on the leather to unfasten it. He's breathing raggedly through his nose, and LeFou halts the hands on his waistband to tilt Stanley's head back; to ensure that he didn’t break any bones in his nose.

“Nothing’s broken,” Stanley says, shy under the scrutiny.  
  
“I’m sorry.” The bruise looks even worse up close, as though the colour has spread over a matter of several minutes. It’s bright and swollen, but ultimately nothing that won't heal I'm a few days. “What will you tell people, when they ask tomorrow?” LeFou whispers, tracing the mark with featherlight fingertips.

“That you hit me,” says Stanley, “for disrespecting Gaston.”

Ah, the truth.

It sounds foolish when it’s said out loud; their situation crashing down around LeFou like a gunpowder scattershot.

Stanley winces under LeFou’s touches; moans. His hands are back at the waist of LeFou’s breeches, unfastening the tie of his fly, fondling and groping at him through the fabric until LeFou decides to finish the job; removing his cock, half-hard, from his undergarments and rolling Stanley’s head back with a palm to his forehead to look at the glossy head of it.

His fingers slip through Stanley’s hair and he tugs; Stanley’s mouth falling open with the rough pull of his hair, sighing sweetly at the ceiling. He clings to LeFou’s hips; LeFou stroking himself right in front of the young man, wringing pearly white beads of precome from the tip and smearing them across Stanley’s waiting lips.

Hot, shallow breaths envelop him and he stares down with drunken desire; can’t wait to slip past those lips and fuck his throat--

“Have you sucked a cock before?”

Stanley nods wordlessly in reply.

“And these men - were they interested in having you dress up in wigs and dresses?” He scoffs, his hand dropping from the top of Stanley’s head to his chin; dipping his thumb into Stanley’s hot, wet mouth - past his teeth and along the side of his tongue. “Or did you tell them?”

“You’re the first person I’ve told,” Stanley mumbles around the digit.

It’s annoying, that feeling of obligation - to be the one to hold the secret. LeFou pouts, feels suddenly aggressive; keeps his eyes trained on Stanley’s lips, his mouth opening and allowing for the weight of LeFou’s cock on his tongue. He doesn’t need to be told what to do - his lips wrap tightly around the whole of LeFou’s cock and he sucks him in deep.

His nose nuzzles into the fuzz at LeFou’s abdomen, hot exhalations filtering over the both of them, leaving dew and goosebumps on their skin. It’s sloppy, with Stanley’s saliva leaking from the corners of his mouth, his tongue pressing hotly to the underside of the shaft. He bobs up and down eagerly - too quickly - and Lefou cradles Stanley’s head in both hands in order to steady him.

“You’re in a hurry?” LeFou snickers. “I guess I shouldn’t be surprised that you’re an eager whore, given that you like to dress like one.”

Stanley simply hums around his cock, tongue tracing up sensitive veins to flick at the slit, drawing out what precome he can; removing his mouth completely to kiss and lick from the base up, lapping at the tip sparingly as a treat. His tongue swirls around the head of LeFou’s cock one final time before being completely swallowing him down.

LeFou clutches more violently at the man’s dark curls as he watches his length disappear inch by inch; bottoming out inside of that perfect mouth--

“Shit--”

LeFou’s shoulders tremble; his breathing hitches. He pants out open-mouthed encouragements, soft moans in reply to Stanley’s hums and slurps echoing throughout the small bedroom. Stanley's fingers dig into the fabric of LeFou’s breeches for balance, thumbs kneading into LeFou’s hip bones as though he was a kitten, drawing him closer; dipping into his undergarments and around to deftly caress his ass as his throat slackens to better accommodate LeFou’s girth.

He hits the back of Stanley’s throat repeatedly - _amazing_ \- the pressure from the flat of his tongue and hollowed cheeks is almost otherworldly.

“--Look at you,” he sneers.

There’s an obvious erection at the front of Stanley’s pants - much larger and insistent than earlier - the muscles in his thighs and calves quake beneath his trousers. He cries out when LeFou presses his foot into him once again, but LeFou’s grip on the back of his head is firm and he thrusts in deeper to keep Stanley quiet.

To be on the receiving end of the whimpers and moans is an incredible kind of power. He wants it to last; wants to see Stanley thoroughly wrecked but the kid’s tongue is just too talented. LeFou’s never really known the men from his previous encounters - never cared to. He’d always just imagined they were Gaston. Had always imagined it was Gaston’s name spilling from his lips.

Saying Stanley’s name feels like a betrayal of that, but it’s difficult to stop the “St-” forming at the tip of his tongue.

Stanley pulls off of him, just barely; moans around him. “I--” he coughs, voice low and pleasantly rough, “I want you to finish in my throat--”

It’s too obscene to hear out loud.

“Oh, God…”

He can feel his muscles tensing, arousal building in the pit of LeFou’s stomach until the tingling, tightness in his groin is too much, and suddenly he’s pulling himself away from Stanley’s drooling lips and stroking himself quickly.

“Then let me see it on your tongue,” he huffs, and then he's grunting, spilling into Stanley's willing mouth; thick white stripes landing across the expanse of the man's tongue and onto his lips when he dares to pull away.

LeFou breathes heavily, petting Stanley’s cheeks. He makes to tuck himself into his undergarments - doesn't know what to do next. He feels high on adrenaline, drunk from exhaustion. He only snaps out of his daze when he hears Stanley's voice from below.

“Did you enjoy yourself?”

LeFou's tired eyes snap down to focus on Stanley's. He runs his tongue along his upper teeth; flashes a lazy grin. “It's like you were born to do that.”

Stanley doesn't move from his place between LeFou's legs. He stays catching his breath, coated in a thin layer of sweat, licking his lips with dreamy eyes.

“You look like you were enjoying yourself too - but you didn't do anything about it,” LeFou snides, tapping the toe of his boot against Stanley's straining cock again for emphasis. He delights in the resulting hiss of breath inwards.

The young man stares up at LeFou, and through the dim light, he looks downright devious - those talented plump lips of his smirking up at him...

“I was waiting to pay you back for the eye.”

LeFou stares, heavy-lidded eyes threatening to close until he processes the underlying promise there. He's tired and done, but he wants what Stanley’s got to offer him. He can't help the smile from slowly creeping across his face.

“Oh?”

It happens as quickly as Stanley stands; envelops LeFou in his arms - running his fingernails along LeFou’s biceps, placing his lips to the back of LeFou’s neck and pressing him down onto the bed.

LeFou makes himself comfortable, chest pressed flush against the blankets, kneading at them, balling them in his fists as Stanley joins him on the bed from behind. He can feel Stanley’s clothed cock against the cleft of his ass, rocking slowly against him as the young man bends to cover LeFou’s body with his own.

Stanley delights in seeing LeFou pliant beneath him; chuckles feverishly and says softly, “I dream of you like this, sometimes.”

It makes LeFou scoff.

He’s insistent on covering every inch of LeFou’s back with his lips - soft and wet - smacks and sucks at warm, sensitive flesh. He leaves a small red mark on LeFou’s right shoulder, and LeFou groans under the pain of it, adores it. Stanley’s teeth graze a scar on his arm - a bite mark left several years ago now by Gaston as they’d wrestle - and this is what LeFou has always wanted from his other partners: the beautiful pain and pressure of bites that he can imagine are Gaston’s. To imagine Gaston clawing down his back; on top of him with dominance.

Stanley’s no different from the others, really.

“Would you like me to leave a mark? I won’t break the skin like him,” Stanley coos, but there’s a hint of condescension in it that sends shivers of arousal down LeFou’s spine.

He nods into the blankets, utters “Do it,” as he rolls his hips back to meet Stanley’s, and Stanley humps into him recklessly at the words.

He draws back for a brief moment, and when LeFou moves to prop himself up on his elbows to look back, Stanley crashes his head back to the blankets and holds him there; pressed flat against the mattress with his ass in the air and the bedspread tickling at his gut.

And then Stanley’s drawing back once more to pull LeFou’s bottoms down and to untie his own fly; slipping his own trousers and underdrawers down past his hipbones - one hand still holding LeFou’s head down hard. The weight of Stanley’s erection is tantalizing, running across Lefou’s backside, and neither man even tries to stifle their desperate groans.

Stanley’s top teeth sink into the flesh of LeFou’s outer thigh and LeFou lurches forward in surprise, gasping in shock. He bites and sucks at that one sensitive spot until LeFou is mewling beneath him.

“Now we’re even.”

LeFou closes his eyes to keep his vision from spinning.

There’s a moment of hesitation, and then the harsh sound of Stanley spitting and the man is rubbing his fingertips against the pucker of LeFou’s ass; grabbing a cheek with one hand and spreading. He spits again into his hand - uses it to slick up his cock, working himself up. His chest rises and falls, breath uneven and loud.

“LeFou, _chouchou_ …”

Stanley removes his hand from LeFou’s head, traces his hand down LeFou’s curves. His cock slides easily between LeFou’s cheeks, over his hole, probing at it curiously without breaching into him; rocks his hips forward in calculated thrusts, slowly at first, pressing LeFou's bottocks together to keep himself tightly in place.

LeFou shudders; can feel every inch of Stanley push through him until the tip is poking out, dripping precome and saliva onto the small of his back. He grinds back impatiently, but Stanley just tuts and keeps his rhythm. In and out.

“To think you were calling _me_ eager,” Stanley laughs. “This is all I have the courage to do right now, I’m afraid.”

By now LeFou is half-hard, cock rocking back and forth with every slap of his balls against Stanley’s as the younger of them picks up his pace; fucking against him, buried in hot, generous flesh. Slippery with sweat. The head of Stanley’s cock growing more sensitive by the second, rubbing against LeFou’s entrance, over and over--

It’s the teasing that drives LeFou wild; foreign - too out of character to ask of Gaston in his fantasies. Stanley leans in to grip him; pumping lazily and swirling his thumb over the come-slick slit, causing LeFou to shudder and cry out - “ _Mmph, Sta--_ ” - muffled into the bedspread.

It’s all the encouragement Stanley needs to take his cock firmly in hand, fisting up and down his own shaft; clawing down LeFou’s back and breathing hot, open-mouthed gasps of “ _oh God_ ” into the air.

And strange as it seems, LeFou finds the act of being used as a masturbatory aid to feel so much more unseemly. He feels perfectly filthy in an entirely new way. With Stanley rutting against him - pushing him deeper into the blankets like a ragdoll - LeFou moans out,

“ _Stanley_ \--!”

He can feel the streaks of ejaculate coating him - warm on his ass, his back. Stanley jerks forward and grunts, LeFou rolling with the motions as he, too, leaks the final remnants of come leftover from earlier, crying out in a weak - but unexpected - orgasm. Stanley throws his head back, eyes screwed shut, simply basking in the feeling of release washing over him.

He wrings the final bit out of himself, drawing it over LeFou's hole, teasing them both with shallow presses of his cock just barely inside.

LeFou doesn't want to say anything about it, really. He's so far past exhaustion that he's already beginning to feel tomorrow morning's hangover. He's happy to collapse - takes a certain pride in ruining Stanley's bedspread when he tumbles down back-first onto it.

He closes his eyes; couldn’t keep them open if he tried. He can hear Stanley fumbling about; feels the bed dip and the loss of the man's weight and body heat.

“One minute, I'll fetch us a handkerchief.”

But LeFou is already asleep when he returns.

  
  
  


Stanley wakes up at seven in the morning to the smell of sex and rainwater, a burnt-down candle and soot in the fireplace, and the absence of LeFou.

**Author's Note:**

> Please give me your thoughts in the comments or message me @riachinko on Twitter or @rudigerblues on Tumblr ^o^
> 
> [x](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8VzBzEinYUQ)


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